Killswitch Chronicles- The Complete Anthology

by G. R. Carter

  Olsen waited for the surviving Alpha group Turtles to form up on his position, and then pointed north to pursue a stream of gray camouflaged trucks and Humvees retreating. I broke them, Eric thought. He stood a little taller in the commander’s hatch, bumping off the padded sides as EO Ironsides absorbed the uneven ground. Eric leaned forward, willing the engine to speed up and catch his prey, not wanting a single one to escape back into the safety of New America. The gunners engaged targets as best they could while the Turtles shuddered over frozen clumps of brush.

  He glanced over to see where Bravo group had gone, hoping they would stay on his flank to the east and prevent any Grays from cutting that direction. He spotted them, calculating they were now about a mile over the fields from his position. His group approached what had once been a highway overpass, leading down to the road that Bravo group followed. The earthen embankments were nearly thirty feet tall on each side, gently sloping out for a half a mile in each direction. He signaled his driver to stop and felt the kinetic energy of the massive vehicle surge through him. The surviving Turtles slowed to a stop around and in front of him, unable to match their reflexes to his signals.

  He decided to break radio silence and order Bravo group to halt, but it was too late. They plunged right across the elevated road, blinded by the change in elevation. Olsen screamed into the radio, but over the rumble of his engine he could hear the ripping sound of heavy weapons. He realized the Grays had pulled one of the oldest military tricks available: feigned retreat and ambush. His instincts saved Alpha group, but he was sure that Bravo group now felt the weight of their commander’s mistake…my mistake, Eric thought.

  He froze for a moment, wondering what to do next. “Circle that rise to the west!” Eric yelled to his driver.

  Eric could feel his Bravos getting shredded, and coming over the rise confirmed his fears: four Turtles were already smoking, including the group’s lead. The survivors were deploying to counter, but the Gray ambushers were already moving, four older style Humvees but each with the heavy .50 caliber machine guns mounted on top. Those guns had trouble penetrating a Razorback's armor, but could easily disable a Turtle at close enough range. Infantry carrying some sort of tube weapon jumped into the vehicles as they began to drive away.

  Eric thought for a moment about chasing the four, but thought better of it. He had lost nearly half of his vehicles in a stretch of less than ten minutes. The Grays were retreating, if not for good than at least for long enough to allow the farms to regroup and rearm. He called for the Bravo survivors to help their stricken comrades, then come to his position. He would use the reverse of this rise to dig in and wait for a Gray counterattack he feared might come at any moment.

  A loud rumble and clanking came from behind as the Shiloh Shuffler pulled up. Scorch marks covered the tan and green camouflage paint, and every inch seemed to be dented and dinged. With smoke and steam still all around, Hank Tripp seemed to leap out before the hulking metal beast came to a complete stop.

  “Lieutenant Commander Olsen, you are the true definition of a lifesaver. Without your help, the Grays would have had us this morning,” the older man said, extending a warm handshake.

  “I’m glad we could help, Captain Tripp. Is someone seeing to my men?”

  “Our medics are with them now. I hope the cost wasn’t too high. I know you’ve got another mission to accomplish still,” Tripp replied.

  Eric’s heart sank. The plan to join up with Charlie group and capture Walsh had completely slipped his mind in the chaos of combat. “Captain Tripp, I’m going to leave the remaining troops of Bravo group here under your command just in case the Grays come back. I’ll take Alpha and head up to our rally point. I suppose I’m too late to help, but the rest of the troopers up there are waiting for us.”

  “Of course. Good luck on the hunt,” Tripp said with an exhausted grin.

  *****

  “For all his faults, I would have never bet Walsh would leave so many civilians and wounded behind. Not if he really thought we were the devil,” Fredericks said to Maggie Kemble. They sat alone in the hospital chapel while Red Hawk medics helped her staff tend to the hundreds of wounded Legionnaires spread throughout the complex. The rest of his task force was split between bringing in supplies and standing guard against any hostiles still lurking in the city. Maggie swore they were all gone, and Fredericks believed she was telling him what she knew to be true. But there was no way he was taking the chance there were some that she didn’t know about.

  “He didn’t really think you were the devil. He actually respected the Hamiltons…and you, too. Sure, you infuriated him with your refusal to join New America, but he considered the Caliphate and Aurora to be the real threats.”

  “Then why the attack? We would have stayed on our side of the border, probably forever,” Fredericks pleaded.

  “His decision-making was really messed up the last couple of years. Those GangStars he teamed up with gave him some pain medication to help with his leg, the one that got hurt bad in Lafayette and never healed right. He was always an s.o.b., but after that he turned into a crazy s.o.b.”

  “I know Ty’s death really affected him. I could certainly see that before I left,” Fredericks said.

  Maggie looked down at the oak pew where they sat, unable to speak for a moment. The death of her husband, Walsh’s second-in-command at the base, still hurt like an open wound. Ty Kemble could always guide Walsh to the right decision, and his death at the hands of the city police force spurred the National Guard takeover of all civilian matters here. After the success of that seizure, Walsh expanded New America over territory covering the better part of two states.

  “He was convinced he was doing the right thing. I’m pretty sure he thought that if he could get you all to submit to Reconstruction, America would have the resources to fight the Caliphate. The force that attacked the Red Hawks was just what he could scrape together around here. Walsh emptied every checkpoint and firebase. Anyone who could carry a weapon and any vehicle that could carry them. We’ve lost so many Legionnaires up north, you just can’t believe the carnage,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.

  “Can you tell me anymore about the force hitting us from the west? Whether they’ll continue to come at us?” Fredericks asked.

  Maggie shook her head. “I just ran the administration of Lincoln City. I didn’t have any say about the decisions for New America. He just left it up to me to make sure everyone was fed and the wounded were taken care of. Pretty much all I have here now is widows and small children. The wounded are about the only men left in town.” Tears welled up again. Fredericks suspected this was the first time she felt she could speak peer-to-peer in ages.

  “Women run the place, that explains why it’s so neat and organized,” Fredericks said with a smile.

  Maggie just laughed and nodded. “I guess that’s going to change now. Don’t you think Walsh will try to take the city back? He always said this was his Rome. I can’t imagine him just walking away from New America’s capital and the entire western half of the empire.”

  Fredericks steeled at the sound of her last word, offended an American officer would try and build something so antithetical to his own ideals. “I hope by now the emperor’s day has gone from bad to worse.”

  *****

  Eric held the hand of Charlie group's commander, keeping it steady as a medic injected painkillers into the wounded man’s blood system. His whole body shook from the pain of a shattered leg and burns covering half of his torso. “Tuh, tuh, two to one, sir,” the man spit out through swollen lips. “Tried to stop them, we tried…” Then the drugs took mercy on the man, giving him some escape from his wounds as he fell into unconsciousness. Eric looked at the medic who simply shook his head and closed the kit before turning to the next man lying beside him. They had already worked through the triage, taking care of those with a good chance of surviving, and now were in the midst of those too far gone to help. Most wouldn’t make it the next
hour, though together with the unit chaplain he prayed for them all.

  Shattered Turtles sat on each side of the wide pathway of what was a four-lane interstate. Rally point Gamma Six was a wide stretch where the median between east- and westbound lanes was paved, keeping nature from obscuring the view from one side to another. Rivers and natural barriers made this a perfect choke point to keep prey from escaping a trap. Counting on capturing a few staff in lightly armored cars, Charlie group took positions where the armored Turtle couldn’t use its speed and agility to fight. The slugging match they found themselves in was a disaster, and every one of the ten brand new vehicles was destroyed or heavily damaged.

  The sole surviving vehicle commander had briefed Eric on the action. He estimated a column of at least twenty-five heavily armed and in some cases fully armored, Humvees as well as six-wheeled troop transports hit the group at top speed. A couple of survivors even swore to seeing a tracked vehicle in the group, though the senior officer couldn’t confirm it. Eric inspected two destroyed Humvees left behind by the Grays. Both were the most recent version from before the Reset, with armor plating and the heaviest weapon available for this particular model. Tracks of oil and fuel led west, suggesting that others had been damaged besides these two.

  He thought briefly of gathering the survivors and heading out in pursuit. Maybe they could catch them and get the Grays in an area where the Turtles could use their speed and maneuverability. But his men were exhausted. They had been running and fighting all day. More importantly, he had lost over half of his force in just twelve hours and still didn’t accomplish his primary mission. Better to regroup with Fredericks and see how the battle for Lincoln City was going. He’d have to give Fredericks the bad news about Walsh, and Alex would be disappointed. But he was proud to have turned the tide at the battle for Shiloh. The men who died in his group had accomplished a lot, something their families would be proud of for generations, he was sure.

  He was also sure his own father would be proud of him for saving so many and being part of such a crucial victory for the Republic. He just hoped there wasn’t too much damage to the farms surrounding their place at Tower Hill. He was really getting to like the place. When he married Lori Hamilton they might just build their own Fortress Farm near there. He let his mind escape the destruction around him for a moment. Bet that will make Mom and Dad really happy.

  Appalachia

  Brand new military style vehicles cruised down the winding mountain highway. Clean windshields reflected the bright summer sun as the metal beasts sent black exhaust smoke into the air. Uniformity was rare in the post-Reset world. Everything had to be handmade or cobbled together from pieces left over from the collapse – but these armored trucks were identical to each other, all the way down to the tan paint jobs, making them look as out of place in the modern world as a jet airliner.

  Lamar Jenkins Jr. observed each one through his priceless field binoculars, picked up from a Cog officer brave enough, or stupid enough, to scout up into the mountains years before. He used the magnified glass to pick out the unit numbers from the side of the trucks, whispering the digits to a younger man lying beside him with a pencil and notebook.

  “1205th is the unit number, and I count ten of the six wheeled transport trucks and two escort Humvees,” Lamar said to his cousin. The visibility wasn’t perfect though most of the morning mountain mist had faded by now. “All of them have the knot symbol on the side.” He subconsciously made the sign of a figure eight, the infinity knot, in the air with one finger. The teenager quickly scribbled onto the paper, his young face twisted with concern. The expression made him look a little older, though not old enough to hide the fact his face only required the occasional shave.

  “Lamar, why do we need to know this stuff? You’ve had us out here for years recording numbers and unit strength. But nothing ever happens,” he challenged, in the way that only family can.

  Lamar considered his relative for a moment. Tyrone was a good kid, a first cousin from his mother’s side. Like all the Congregation’s young men and women, Ty was encouraged to ask questions. Even when the annoyance of their elders was clear, the next generation pursued reasons behind decisions.

  “Something is going on, Ty. Without the numbers we’ve been recording all this time, I would have never noticed it,” Lamar instructed. His dark brown eyes narrowed, aiming to bring the point home to his subordinate. “Cog soldiers are splitting town, heading somewhere south in bunches.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing? We should just be happy to be rid of them. Maybe they got sick of getting their butts whooped and are high tailin’ it out,” Ty said with the confidence only sky high testosterone afforded.

  Lamar knew better. The Cogs were the remnants of the Federal government. In fact, their nickname came from Continuity of Government; the plan put into place when all the lights went out years before. Soldiers had attempted to force Lamar’s parents into camps. Refusing to break up the community they built with their Church, the Congregation fled the Federal District together. Lamar’s namesake father, plus his father’s best friend, had given their lives to see everyone else make it to the safety of the mountains of western Virginia. With the time they bought, Lamar’s mother Charlotte led everyone safely to their new home. She alone managed to keep everyone organized and focused on the task at hand even while overcoming her own grief.

  “Let’s get this information back home. It’s time to make some decisions about what to do,” Lamar said. He was a leader in the Congregation, but not the leader of the Congregation. Not even Pastor claimed that title. This decision would have to be made by Charlotte herself.

  Ty packed his notebook and rolled onto his back to check his rifle. A buzzing noise invaded the solitude of the woods and instinctually he froze. Up through the tree canopy he watched a metallic bird hover overhead. “Lamar?” he said slowly and softly.

  “Hold still little man,” Lamar whispered, trying to assure his cousin and himself. Lamar hadn’t seen anything airborne except God’s own creatures since before the power shut off. He had been just a teenager then, and only remembered such things as dreams of a past life.

  Like science fiction, maybe aliens? Then he smiled inside his head for a brief moment. Might be aliens alright, but probably not little green men. Probably Cog tricks, and somehow related to the fancy trucks he spotted down on the highway.

  Slowly, the drone - yes that’s what they were called, drones he remembered – pulled away from their sight, the buzzing tailing off into the distance.

  “What in God’s name was that,” Ty asked with shock. He was shaking a little, something Lamar had never witnessed.

  “Don’t worry cousin. It’s not a demon or something. Unless you count those Cogs as demons, which I guess we should, huh? That was something called a drone. They used to deliver stuff with them, back when we had electricity. Federals had weapons on some of them, used them for spying and blowing up terrorists, too…”

  Lamar froze at the meaning of his own words. The Cogs probably considered the Congregation to be terrorists. Which meant that at the very least, the drone was probably looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  “We got to move, Ty. Let’s go, right now. Quick like.” Before Lamar could finish, an explosion ripped through the trees just 50 yards away from where they sat. Both threw themselves down on the ground. Instinctually Lamar jumped back up and grabbed his cousin, half dragging him while running down the hill. A second explosion ripped into the spot they had just left, then they were both sliding more than running as they tumbled down towards the interstate below.

  They came to rest in a drainage ditch cut along the westbound lanes. Long since overgrown with no highway maintenance staff to look after it, the spot Lamar landed was a swampy mess of neglect. He felt around, “Ty you there?”

  “Yeah Lamar, I’m here. And yes, I’m ok.” There was a pause and then a panting question, “What should we do now?”

  How am I supposed to know
? Lamar thought bitterly, letting despair creep into his mind for a moment. How do I fight something I can’t even see?

  The sound of tires gripping the decaying pavement interrupted his thoughts, snapping him back to the moment. He heard the tire speed slow down then come to a stop right past the tall grass where he lay. A door creaked open, and he could hear swearing from a man’s voice. Then another door, and a voice more clearly defined like someone used to giving orders. “Can’t we just pull through the median and get on the other side?” the voice asked.

  Lamar couldn’t exactly make out what he other voice said, but it clearly was a no for some reason.

  “Ok, then we’ll just have to go back to the turnaround a few miles back,” the commander voice replied.

  “Freeze, we’ve got you surrounded!” They got Ty! Lamar thought in horror, then felt a different dread as he realized Ty’s voice was the one who made the demand.

  A rifle went off a few yards away, and Lamar jumped up raising his own rifle and firing in the direction he thought the vehicle sat. He took one step forward and could make out the top of a gray colored Humvee, with a uniformed figure slumped down beside the passenger side door. Another man in camouflaged fatigues had his hands in the air, with a look of shock and disgust on his face.

  A rock slide, likely caused by the explosions chasing Lamar and Ty down the mountain side, lay scattered across the pavement. The road was impassible even to the Humvee’s high clearance.

  “Son, you’ve made a big mistake. This place is going to be crawling with my soldiers any second. I’d suggest you let me go and get as far away as you can,” the man shouted. “You do know my people can track me anywhere, right?” Clearly he was a senior officer, both by demeanor and the fact that he called the soldiers his.